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valeskafics · 2 months

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"Blood Magick" - Aemond Targaryen x Younger Sister!Reader

a/n: a request from @the-shadow-queen02 combined with an anon request 🩷

Summary: Aemond does whatever is required to make sure that you belong to him and not your twin.

TW: DUBCON, canon typical incest, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, blood kink, reader is on her period, blood magic, idk sex under the influence technically but not really, fingering, oral f receiving, tiddy succin, overstim, breeding kink, p in v sex, creampie

Word Count: 3,100 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

The news of your betrothal to Daeron comes as a shock to your older brother when he returns from the Riverlands. As far as Aemond is concerned, you have always belonged to him. His sweet and mischievous yet so very innocent sister. He’s always cared for you for than any of your other siblings, protected you, watched over you. It’s only fair that he be the one who gets to finally wed you. But your mother is resolute in her decision. She tells Aemond that when his youngest siblings were born - as twins, no less - his father decreed immediately that when the time came for them to be wed, they would marry each other.

Aemond could not give less of a damn what his father decreed.

So, he seeks help from his new acquaintance, Alys Rivers, the Witch of the Riverlands. He has no qualms in admitting he took the beautiful woman to be his lover, that she taught him much in the way of pleasures of the flesh. Things he now wishes to share with you. And Alys, so long as she is guaranteed a place in the palace and the comforts of a noblewoman in the Keep, cares not. She is all too happy to help Aemond procure the ingredients for a spell that will make you fall desperately, passionately in love with him. There are only two caveats to this enchantment that she warns him of.

The first is that it must be performed during your moon’s blood to be at full potency.

The second is that you must have some feelings for him already in order for it to work.

The first is something he can easily find out. The second, however, will be a bit trickier. He’ll have to take it on faith.

It’s late at night when you nearly catch him preparing for the spell. He wouldn’t have even noticed you were it not for the sound of you asking him what in the world he’s doing. His head whips toward you and he sees you standing there, eyes wide, a curious expression on your face as you continue munching on the lemon cake in your hands.

“You should be in bed!” Aemond accuses as you make your way into his chambers, “You startled me. What are you doing, sneaking about in the dark of the night?”

“I’m not sneaking!” You protest, the whine in your voice making you sound even younger than your nine and ten years, “I went to the kitchens. The cook made lemon cakes.”

Aemond’s eye twitches at your reasoning, “Lemon cakes? You’re sneaking around in the dead of the night to get yourself sweets which you shouldn’t even be eating this late?”

“I am nine and ten years old! You can’t boss me about anymore,” you declare, taking the last bite of your sweet treat, almost as if in direct defiance of your older brother, “I am a young woman and you ought to treat me as such.”

He watches as you lick your fingers clean, that pretty pink tongue of yours darting out to collect the sugary residue left on your fingers. He feels a stirring in his loins at the sight, his cock hardening in his breeches as he imagines how pretty you’d look on your knees, staring up at him while you lap at his cock with that little tongue. But, he simply clears his throat and shakes his head, facing you once again, playing the role of the concerned older brother.

“You may be a young woman now, but you are still my little sister, which means you still must listen to me,” Aemond declares, “Now get some sleep. You should know better than to sneak out of bed to stuff yourself with sweets.”

“You’re a bore,” you retort before glancing over at the ancient tome he was poring over before you distracted him, “What’s that book, anyway?”

Aemond blanches slightly, immediately moving to push you out of his chambers, “That is none of your concern.”

“Wha- don’t be like that!” You protest, struggling against him, trying to dig your feet into the ground but to no avail, “Aemy, I want to know! Come on!”

“My business is my business and no one else’s,” he retorts, “Go to bed.”

“Ugh!” You let out an annoyed huff, “Fine! I’ll have you know that you’ve moved down the ranking of my favorite siblings. You are now dead last.”

Aemond can’t hide the hurt in his voice as he replies, “I thought I was your favorite…”

“You still come above Rhaenyra, I suppose,” you reply airily as you walk away, earning a scowl from your elder brother, “Goodnight.”

Aemond slams the door to his chambers shut, still scowling until, slowly, a smile spreads across his face. One that screams of ill intent.

“I suppose I will have to earn your favor back then.”

The next morning, Aemond finds himself impatiently waiting for your arrival. The entire family is ready to break their fast, but you have not yet arrived. Everything is prepared for the spell, all he needs is for you to begin your monthly courses. He prays to the Maiden that this may be soon. Perhaps it is blasphemous of him to be praying to the Seven when he is about to use ancient blood magick on his little sister, but he cares not. He’s willing to do anything it takes to have you. To take you away from Daeron. To keep you by his side forever.

You seem a bit peckish when you finally do come down, with a slightly feverish brow, playing with your food rather than eating it. He watches as Aegon leans over to rest a hand on your forehead, asking you if you’re alright. You’re the only person he’s ever seen his elder brother show any affection for, and he can’t help but feel irked at the sight of it. Especially when you give him that sweet smile of yours and assure him that there’s nothing to worry about. That it’s just something that you, as a woman, must deal with. Aemond’s ears perk up at your choice of words and he realizes that it’s time for him to cast his spell.

Aemond smirks to himself as you proclaim that you will be resting in your chambers, watching as you walk away, the slight sway to your hips being almost too alluring to resist. But resist he does, staying seated and waiting for you to turn the corner and disappear from sight.

He comes to your chambers after finishing his meal and finishing the last bit of preparation for the enchantment, taking care to enter quietly. He hears your soft, deep breathing as you slumber, your face so peaceful as you sleep. You’re so beautiful like this, so soft, your lips parted, eyes scrunched shut as you dream of, what he’s sure to be, lemon cakes. He traces the contours of your face with his fingertips, reveling in the way you lean into his touch in your sleep. You’re such a defiant, fierce little thing when you’re awake, but right now? You’re as docile as a baby kitten.

Aemond moves your quilt away from your body, seeing the tiniest red stain on your sheet, indicating to him that the time is ripe for him to cast the spell. He says the words, his voice low and soft, careful not to wake you as he moves his hand to your thigh, taking the slightest bit of your blood onto his palm. He watches as you moan softly in your sleep, tossing and turning before nuzzling your face into your pillow and letting out a quiet sigh. He’s so entranced by you as you twist and turn, your hair scattered about your pillow like a halo, framing your face. He wants to run his fingers through it, to kiss those sweet lips of yours that he’s dreamt of for so long.

Your eyes flutter open a few moments later, hazy from slumber, and you gaze up at him curiously, “Aemond? What are you doing in my chambers, brother?” He remains silent, staring at you longingly, willing the spell to work. Willing you to fall as deeply in love with him as he is with you. Your smile is uncharacteristically shy, something that gives him the tiniest bit of hope as you murmur, covering yourself with your blanket in a display of modesty, so timid and shy after all your boldness earlier, “It’s not appropriate for you to be in here while I am having my blood, big brother.”

You are looking at him, with those wide doe eyes, the way he has always dreamed. Your hair tousled, framing your pretty face, nearly overwhelms him with the urge to grab you and kiss you senseless. But he resists, if only barely.

“I’m sorry, sweet sister, I was merely concerned after you left the table so suddenly.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to have worried you, Aemy,” you reply, your voice so gentle that it makes his heart twist in his chest, “Mother says her blood was quite difficult when she was younger.”

Aemond gazes at you with that piercing blue eye, doing his best to maintain his composure, his stomach in knots. Your voice has lost that brash, obstinate quality you’ve had of late when dealing with him. It’s so soft. So alluring. He clears his throat, moving to rest his hand on your cheek, so soft beneath his fingertips as he strokes your skin.

“You ought to let your big brother take care of you, little one,” he murmurs, fingers moving to trace your lips, “Won’t you let me, sweet girl?”

“It’s inappropriate,” you pout slightly, the sight of which makes Aemond’s mouth water, “You’re a man grown and I am a lady now…”

“Shh, little sister,” he coos, caressing your face, loving the way you lean into his touch, his voice dripping with dominance and sensuality, “I love you, little one. And I take care of the ones I love.”

Aemond’s hand moves down to your throat, making your breath hitch ever so slightly, reveling in the little gasp you let out as he moves it lower and lower, caressing and squeezing your breast gently, before reaching your lower stomach. His palm rests against you, and you sigh softly, giving him a demure little smile, telling him without words how soothing his touch is. How good he’s making you feel.

“Let me show you just how good I can make you feel, little one,” Aemond murmurs.

You watch with wide eyes as he moves further down, his large hand squeezing one of your thighs, your flesh so soft and pliant in his grasp. You squirm slightly, a weak protest leaving your lips as you squirm, averting your gaze.

“Y-you can’t touch me there,” you say shyly, “Mother says it’s impure for a man to see a lady when she’s having her blood…”

Aemond chuckles, pushing your nightdress up, revealing your bare flesh, his greedy gaze taking it in with relish, “I am not just a man, though, am I, little one? I’m your big brother. I am meant to care for you. And I will do whatever I need to make you feel better.”

He has one hand on either of your thighs now, moving them higher and higher with every passing moment, dangerously close to your core. Your head lolls onto his shoulder as he gets closer and closer to his final destination, salivating at the thought of what lies between those plush thighs. You let out a breathy whisper as he continues.

“But what if you get blood…”

He smirks at you, shaking his head before he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear, “Your blood doesn’t frighten me, little princess.”

You whimper softly as his fingers trace over your slit, cool against your warm skin, making you shiver at the sensation. You stare up at him with wide eyes, your hair damp with sweat, the blood rushing to your cheeks. You bite down hard on your lower lip as he continues teasing your slick folds with his fingers, staring you in the eye as he continues.

“A-Aemy, it’s embarrassing,” you whine, panting slightly as he presses down harder against you, Big brother, please…”

Your hips buck against his hand, your entire body so sensitive from your moon’s blood. Aemond can’t believe how responsive and receptive you are to his touch, your eyes rolling back as he gently pushes two fingers inside of you, feeling your warmth, how wet you are at his touch and his alone. The heel of his palm rubs against your swollen pearl as he begins to pump his fingers in and out of you slowly. You bury your face in his neck, squealing at the sensation, your cunny squeezing his fingers so tight that he can barely move them. But he persists in his endeavor, the wet squelching noises coming from you and the breathy little sighs you let out spurring him on. Aemond buries his fingers knuckle deep inside you, curving them so he can brush against that tiny bundle of nerves deep inside you, that sweet spot that has you crying out his name, your entire body heaving as you grind yourself against his fingers.

Aemond is obsessed with the way you react to his touch. He holds your body close to him, taking in your scent, the noises you make, the way your warmth feels as you spill yourself against him, your essence coating his fingertips. You watch with wide eyes as he brings his fingers, slightly stained with your blood, to his lips, licking them clean with a lewd moan. You whimper at the sight, your eyes still foggy and glazed over from your climax.

He moves to sit between your thighs, surprising you when you realize what he means to do, “I… Big brother, that’s dirty, you can’t-”

Your protests go ignored as he pushes your knees apart, any protests you have dying on your tongue as you feel his breath fanning against your womanhood. His tongue moves along your inner thigh, exploring your body, reveling in your taste, before he finally begins to lap at your folds greedily. You writhe against his touch as he squeezes your thighs, holding them apart as he mouths at your cunt, the slurping noises he lets out making you whine with embarrassment. You try to squirm away, the sensation being almost too pleasurable to bear, but Aemond is having none of it. His lips chase your cunt and he continues fucking you with his tongue, alternating between that and wrapping his lips around your pearl, suckling at it.

The way you try to act so innocent, the way you act as if you want to resist only to bend to his will. It’s so intoxicating for Aemond. The way you shiver against his touch, the way you grab at his hair, tugging at it as you grind your tight little cunt against his face, chasing the pleasure he gives you. Your thighs tremble as you pathetically whine that it’s too much as you spill yourself, your sweetness coating his tongue. And he continues, feeling the way your entire body wracks with pleasure as he brings you to your peak once more. So sweet and so pliant in his grasp, you are completely and entirely his.

After ripping a fourth climax from your poor, overstimulated body, he finally moves up, his lips tinted red ever so slightly. You cover your face, shying away. But Aemond merely chuckles, grabbing you by the chin, forcing you to face him.

“Don’t cover your face, little one. Look at me. Look at me and tell me how good of a job your big brother did in satisfying you.”

“Don’t be mean, big brother,” you whimper softly, feeling his thumb tracing your plump lower lip.

“Thank your big brother for taking care of you, then,” he taunts, a playful little smirk playing on his lips.

You look up at him, lashes fluttering as you breathe, “Thank you for taking care of me, big brother.”

With that, he crushes his lips to yours, a hungry, heated kiss, his tongue moving against your own. It’s like he wishes to devour you, and with the way you cling to his tunic, your legs wrapping around his waist, he knows you would let him. He moves to lay on top of you, freeing his cock from his breeches, giving it a few quick tugs before pushing inside you. You’re so fucking tight as he fills you, burying himself to the hilt inside your wetness as you cry out his name.

“You will marry me, not Daeron,” he declares, his hands moving to cup your breasts, squeezing one softly as he mouths at the other over the fabric of your nightdress, “I will give our mother this sheet, your maiden’s blood staining it, as proof that I’ve ruined you for other men. You belong to me, little sister. You’ve always belonged to me.”

You cling to him as he slots his hips against yours at an almost brutal pace, his cock filling you over and over, your toes curling, head falling back as you are helpless to do anything but scream his name, buck your hips against his, and agree to anything he says. Aemond is completely lost in you, intoxicated by the feeling of being inside you as his lips meet yours, feeling you squeezing around him, your cunt gripping him like a vice. You reach your peak once more and he fucks you through it, determined to hold his own release back until he makes you come once more.

“Oh, little sister, how beautiful you will look, your belly swollen with my babe,” he rasps, “My sweet little sister wife. I shall spill my seed inside you every night so all the realm may know you’re mine.��

“Yes, big brother, please, give me your seed,” you choke out, feeling him spill himself inside you, his warm seed coating your insides as you reach your own peak once more, milking his cock.

The two of you lay there, his lips moving against yours. And for a brief moment, Aemond wonders if this was all just the effect of the spell, or if you do truly love him.

That’s when you whisper a hushed confession, “Whenever I kissed Daeron, I pretended he was you, big brother.”

And Aemond knows. Your heart, your body, your soul.

You are his little sister and you have always belonged to him.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond x reader #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon #my writing #aemond oneshot #targaryen!reader #aemond #targcest

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fandomnerd9602 · 24 days

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Scarlet Delivery

a Scarlet Webs story

Wanda Maximoff x Spider-Man!Reader

Wanda was hyperventilating. Her cell phone was buzzing just waiting for you to pick it up.

“Hello?” You manage to answer.

“Detka, where are you?!” She managed to say in between her hyperventilating breaths.

“Currently…rush hour” you said sticking to the front of a police car. The perp was Mac Gargan. “You shouldn’t worry, baby. I’ll be there.”

“Promise?” Wanda said, tears streaming down her cheek.

“I promise.” A gunshot went off. You narrowly dodged a bullet, “gotta go. Hey! Can’t you see I was taking a phone call!?”

And with that you had to hang up and jump back into the fray. You hated having to do patrol without Wanda. But circumstances had changed the flow and now you were solo again. Nothing changes when you’re the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Meanwhile, Wanda’s tears were still flowing as a portal opened behind her. And out of the portal comes this universe’s Doctor Stephen Strange.

“It’s time,” he says gesturing for your lovey witch to follow. She does so, all the while hoping that you’d keep your promise.

You land on the hood of Mac Gargan’s stolen vehicle. “License and registration, sir?”

Blam! Another shot goes off, you jump onto the roof of the car. A couple more shots ring out. You dodge each bullet flawlessly.

“Can we wrap this up?” You mockingly whine, “I have prior engagements!”

You web up Mac and yank him out the car, webbing him to a nearby streetlight. The car barrels towards a nearby crosswalk where a little old lady with a Walker is currently trying to cross.

“Of all the times!” You jump onto the hood and spray it with various webs before jumping onto the back and yanking the car back with all your might, bringing the car to a dead halt mere inches from the elderly lady.

You give a quick salute and swing off. You knew the location. You knew where Wanda was gonna be. It was all a piece of cake right?

Well then came the Vulture. He tries to slice at you once, twice. “Not now Toomes! I have some place to be.”

“Yes. The morgue!” He tries slicing at you again. You swing thru Times Square and web the winged foe in a giant spider web.

“Yo! Spidey!” A citizen calls out to you.

“Yeah?”

“Where’s your lady? The Witch?”

“I’m trying to get to her now!” You call out before swinging off again into the city. Why did it have to be on the other end of New York?

You land on a rooftop. You quickly web a couple silk lines to your suit, forming a makeshift pair of wings.

“I’m coming Wanda,” you shoot out two web lines and slingshot yourself across the city. Catching a wind current, you sail thru the open air of the city.

You see your destination: the Sanctum Sanctorum. You dive bomb and land right in front of the building. Wong quickly answers the door.

“How far?” You ask.

“You made it just in time.” He smiles and leads the way. You nearly run the way to the little room.

You run in to find Wanda in a relaxed position, still hyperventilating. Nine months pregnant and she still looked beautiful as ever. Dr Strange was readying his medical scrubs.

“Detka!” Wanda exclaims, tears of joy streaming down her face. You run up to her, kissing her gently.

“I promised I’d be here, right?” You ask with a little smirk. Wanda giggles and kisses you again.

“Okay Wanda,” Strange intones, “it’s time. Now push.”

“Sure you got this, Doc?” You ask.

“It’s not surgery. I’m just catching the babies. I won’t drop them.”

“Drop them and I will kill you” Wanda say through gritted teeth.

“I believe you” Strange answers back. “Now focus and push.”

It ended up taking the rest of the day and into the night but Wanda delivered two healthy baby boys. You and her were so excited.

“My boys,” Wanda said with fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. “Billy. Tommy.”

“They’re amazing,” you kiss the top of Wanda’s head, “thank you baby.”

“Thank you. I love them so much already,” Wanda let out a little tired laugh. She actually had her boys in her arms. This wasn’t some conjured up version of them. This wasn’t some other universe’s version of them. This was them, flesh and blood. She had a loving spouse, two handsome little babies, a nice little home in Queens.

Wanda finally had the life she always wanted. And best yet, she got to have it with you, her Spider Monkey.

Tags: @tokufighter @ma1egamer @jacelion @lifespectator @aloneodi @holiday-house-of-m @family-house-of-m @multi-fandom-enjoyer @iamnicodemus @rroyale-109 @scarletquake-n7 @moonpheus

#marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fluff #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu fandom #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet webs #scarlet witch #the scarlet witch #wanda maximoff imagine #spider man #multiverse of madness

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i-made-a-bg3-blog · 4 months

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Look, it’s not like Astarion intended on becoming a Harper, it’s just - well, burglary and pickpocketing are a little more difficult when you can’t enter homes without an invitation or go outside during the day, and he’s grown rather accustomed to a certain elevated lifestyle. There are other places he could turn to for money: the city owes him an estate and a title at the bare minimum. But, there’s something to be said for self-sufficiency, and, though he hates to admit it, he wouldn’t make it through three weeks as a noble without being bored out of his mind.

The Harpers need warm bodies (or cold ones, as it were) to rebuild their ranks after Orin’s doppelgangers, and Jaheira’s a savvy old crone who never learned to take no for an answer. She pinpoints Astarion’s two weak spots: a heavy coinpurse and kidnapped children, street kids, the kind no one would miss.

They’re decidedly amateurish criminals, and it doesn’t take him long to track them down and dispatch them, messily and painfully. Four children sit huddled in a cage, and Astarion knows he must look every bit the monster as he picks the lock with hands covered in gore, but they don’t shy away in fear when he opens the door. One of them slips his chubby little hand into Astarion’s and refuses to let go until they reach the safehouse. It’s…odd.

“Good work, Harper,” Jaheira tells him after, and Astarion makes it explicitly clear that he’s simply an independent contractor, an expensive one.

Jaheira just smirks like the witch she is.

So he contracts. He infiltrates the Guild (and feels insulted when Nine Fingers doesn’t recognize him; he’d like to think he’s rather unforgettable), foils an assassination plot or three, even teams up with Minsc and a turncoat Thayan to stop a gaggle of Red Wizards from doing…whatever it is they do. It’s a good business, he supposes. A hero’s reputation is a small price to pay for a hero’s coffers.

Jaheira’s wise enough to know when to hang up her blades, and it makes her more of an insufferable busybody than ever, which - somehow - becomes Astarion’s problem. First, it’s his own cell, then suddenly he’s the field contact for four others. He’s dragged to the most dreadfully tedious logistical meetings imaginable. The only reason he agrees to any of it is that Jaheira can turn an offhand comment and a raised eyebrow into the kind of challenge that itches beneath Astarion’s skin. It should be all too familiar and just as unwelcome, that burning need to prove himself, but it’s not. It’s different, perhaps, when he isn’t being set up to fail.

Jaheira passes away peacefully in her sleep at the ripe old age of one hundred and ninety-two, and Astarion’s convinced he can hear her grumbling about that all the way from the Fugue Plane. She would have rather gone out fighting, but, privately, Astarion feels like she deserved something gentler than bleeding out on a battlefield. He never did tell her how much he admired her (though he doubts she would have appreciated such open sentiment: ‘I did not realize I looked so terrible that you’ve already started my eulogy.’), but she must have known. He thinks he’s really going to miss her.

Right up until the moment Rion is handing him a pin and leading him to a library full of dossiers and documents. Then, he’s ready to cross the Astral Sea just so that he can bring her back and kill her again. Independent. Contractor. What part of that did she not understand?

He goes home and locks the door with the full intention of ignoring every Harper that comes knocking. But Harpers are nosy little shits, and after he nearly disembowels one who surprises him by breaking into his house just to tell him the most idiotic plan to dismantle a smuggling ring he’s ever had the misfortune of hearing, he realizes hiding isn’t going to be an option. Besides, Astarion cannot be privy to such levels of incompetence and sit idly by.

So he helps. Provisionally. Just long enough to find a decent replacement, and then he can wash his hands of the whole thing.

Unfortunately, it’s not as easy a task as he had hoped. Every potential candidate lacks something: consistency, creativity, confidence, the common sense to understand Astarion’s eminently logical filing system. It takes him three decades to accept that not only is he excellent at the job, but that he enjoys it immensely.

When they make him take a title, he chooses Spymaster. It suits him - dashing, mysterious, questionably moral, because he’s never been a hero, and it would be foolish to pretend that he is.

They all call him High Harper anyways.

#i love the idea of jaheira and astarion being best friends because they are both incredibly sincere people who are allergic to sincerity #also I imagine that astarion's filing system is like 'i was wearing a purple scarf when these files came in so they go in that pile'#this is just a silly little headcanon i had #jaheira #astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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peterthepark · 2 years

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little witch

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

tags: 18+ graphic smut, rough sex, outdoor/public sex, blowjobs, dirty talk, weed, parties, unprotected piv, creampie, squirting, orgasm denial, dom!eddie

summary: a slutty witch costume combined with eddie’s determination to live up to his devilish attire creates a night that both of you are sure to remember.

a/n: definitely going 2 hell for this one. enjoy! recommend listening to tear u apart by she wants revenge or this season of the witch song :)

‘It’s gonna be fun,’ they told him. ‘Why would we pass up an invitation to the coolest party of the year when we never get these opportunities anyways?’ they said.

Jeff and Gareth are fucking idiots. Eddie doesn’t fit in here. None of them do. They stick out like terribly sore thumbs, and it’s nearly comical how obviously misplaced they are amongst this adolescent swarm of boring costumes.

Eddie looks like he walked straight out of the D&D dungeon master’s guide: devil-like horns attached to a flimsy headband that he had stolen from little Erica Sinclair, a red cape tucked into the collar of his signature Hellfire t-shirt, because — of course — how could he ever go a day without it? All of this coupled with a leather jacket, distressed denim and dark liner smudged around his eyes.

What is he exactly? It’s hard to say. His best description is: Izzy Stradlin of Guns N’ Roses meets the baatezu from the Nine Hells of Baator.

Or simply put – a sexy, red gothic devil.

Hawkins High’s infamous Halloween party sits right on the edge of a woodsy Indiana forest, nothing but oddly cut jack-o-lanterns and wax candles decorating the tops of tattered picnic tables. Hard soil and autumn leaves crunch beneath Eddie’s combat boots as he nurses his third solo cup of the night, already seeking for something stronger when he sees Jeff and Gareth being chatted up by a couple eager girls from the debate team.

Goddamn, do they really have more game than him?

He winces, lips curling into a distasteful frown as he busies himself by the candy table and slips a purple lollipop into his mouth with raised brows. In the corner of the crowd, Eddie glances at a couple making out by the beer keg that seem to be quite literally jumping at each other’s bones in public. Boo. He groans in annoyance, looking over his shoulder to find a classic blonde-brunette combo eating each other’s faces just as passionately.

Must be fucking nice.

Yeah, no. He’s going for a walk. Fuck this party and fuck everyone here, including Jeff and Gareth.

Never liked Halloween anyways. Always been more of a Valentine’s Day kind-of-guy.

Eddie crushes his solo cup and chucks it onto a random table, ignoring the protests of his classmates when he displays no intention of stopping or apologizing as he cooly saunters past. The silver chains strung across his belt loops jingle whilst he takes swift strides into the forest; the ruckus of the party fades behind him with each firm step he takes, the prominent wrinkles in his forehead softening as his ears free from a looping mixtape of Thriller.

He continues suckling on his lollipop, a stormy purple staining his tongue as he ventures deeper into the forest and away from that godforsaken, amateur highschool party. Whatever that fucking was, he’s over it. Completely and utterly over it.

That’s when he stumbles onto a clearing in the middle of the woods, surrounded by looming trees circling an old picnic table and…

You. Alone.

Eddie comes to a halt as soon as he sees the faint flickering of orange. Heavy curses fall from your lips as you tend to the tightly-rolled blunt between your fingers, a flame failing to ignite as a result of the cheap Zippo lighter in your opposite hand.

“Goddammit… shit… motherfucking…” You grunt, hurling the lighter in Eddie’s direction. He ducks immediately, eyes bulging out of his head like deer-in-headlights when you finally lock stares. Your childish gaze bounces from the discarded lighter to Eddie’s face. “I… um…”

He definitely knows you, even under the darkness of a haunting midnight sky. Definitely. He’s instantly taken back to the fall semester of his (second attempt) of senior year, having had you in a previous class where he often wondered what the pretty girl’s name who sat in the front was.

And said pretty girl is blinking at him expectantly.

Anyday now. Anyday. Say something, fucker.

“Need, uh, a light?”

Eddie digs his hand into the pocket of his leather jacket, fumbling with the boxy metal before you’re nodding at him with curious eyes and a soft smile. He quickly meets you halfway, feeling his heartbeat stutter when your manicured fingers brush against his palm and your warmth lingers upon his skin.

He takes in the sight of the witch hat resting atop your head, a classic black one that slopes into a swirl at the tip. Your lips are blood-red, almost complimenting the shade of Eddie’s cape and devil horns. A short, raven-colored dress hugs your body perfectly, the flowing sleeves flaring out by your hands as you successfully ignite the joint hanging from your faint smirk.

“Thanks.” You mumble, taking a heavy drag with an appreciative hum before you’re handing back his lighter and sitting down on the wooden bench. He follows suit, whispering a resigned ‘No problem’ as he plops himself onto the opposite end and tosses his lollipop stick to the side. “Party sucked?”

“Yeah, always does.”

“Oh, that’s never good.”

A pause.

“I like your costume…”

“Your costume is…”

The sentences fill the silence simultaneously, causing sincere laughter to follow suit on both parts as you sneakily glance at each other with wide grins. You lean over, sticking out your smaller palm with outstretched fingers. “Alright, I’m Y/N.”

Y/N, he repeats to himself.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate, gingerly enveloping his hand overs yours as he gives it a gentle squeeze. “And I’m—“

“Eddie.” You smile brightly, flicking the blunt against the edge of the table. “I know you. Hellfire himself, right?”

You know him. As if his stomach wasn’t churning with excitement already… you know him — not as the long-haired freak walking the hallways of Hawkins High, but as Eddie “Hellfire Himself” Munson. He can’t fight off the blood that rushes to his face; pink spreads across the bridge of his nose and cheeks as he catches your intent gaze accompanied by that enticing curl of your red lips.

“Yes, it is I… in the flesh.” He chuckles. “And Y/N,” Your name is sweet on his tongue, the name he’d finally come to learn after many months of pointless pining in history class back then. The name that he can’t help but play over and over again in his head, a melody of syllables too gentle for someone of his candor. He points at you, stressing each word with gaiety. “Miss top of the class, graduating senior president, is that right?”

You shrug casually. “In the flesh.”

He huffs in amusement, scratching his neck before he shamelessly watches you finger the thick layering of necklaces swooping into the fleshy valley of your breasts. You clear your throat, hiding your own pleased expression as his eyes helplessly bounce back up to your face with that boyish fear of having been caught looking at places he shouldn’t have been looking at.

Fuck, is it getting hot or is it just him? Awkwardly, he shrugs off his leather jacket, haphazardly laying it over the bench.

Okay, could Eddie seriously blame himself? He’s respectful. He is. Believe him when he says he loves women, and men. Yet it’s almost as if you’re letting him look, angling your hips towards him and parting your knees ever-so-slightly so that your short dress strategically rides up the expanse of your thighs. If you hike your leg up just a little bit higher, he’d see… fuck, he doesn’t know you like that. Stop it.

Does it matter, though?

“So, Eddie, what’s the reasoning behind…” You shift closer to his side of the table. Eddie’s gaze follows the way your fingers dart for the collar of his cape, thumb and forefinger rubbing the fabric purposefully. Your eyes lock, the corners of your lips tugging into a contagious line that Eddie can’t help but mirror. “... this bold choice of costume? A red devil is never good news.”

He wants to wipe that smirk clean off of your mouth. Maybe take some of your lipstick with it, too.

“I’m a good boy today, Y/N. Promise.” He smiles, swearing that he feels your body stiffen against him. “But I mean… it is Halloween, of course. Everyone’s on their worst behavior, pissing their own pants, ready to rob kids for candy…” If he hadn’t been so glued to the glittery shadow around your lids and the smudged mascara under your lower lashes, he wouldn’t have seen your not-so-subtle attempt at glancing at his lap. “... making out in… haunted places. You know, the usual.”

You squint. “Right.”

“Mhm.”

The bench creaks as you stand up, fingers tugging the length of your minidress back over your ass as you kick one boot in front of the other. Eddie remains frozen in his place, reddish leaves trailing past his line of sight while you lean yourself against a tall tree trunk.

You’re teasing him.

He doesn't even fully know you, and he’s already hoping for certain ways this could go.

If you wanted to play that game, you could’ve just asked.

“You know people say these woods are haunted?” Crossing your ankles, your newfound companion doesn’t tear his eyes off of your ripped fishnets, savouring your generous display of cleavage and gorgeous hips as you pull your blunt away from your lips with a hiss and wave it around. “Back in the 1700s, after the Salem witch trials… there were actually rumors that there had been some runaway witches in Hawkins. Didn’t turn out too well for them in the end.”

“Yeah? What happened?” You push off of the tree with the heel of your boot, slowly pacing your way back towards Eddie.

His thighs are spread apart widely, ringed hands drumming patiently against the tattoos on his forearms.

Fuck, he looks good.

“Whatever happens to all witches, I suppose.” You grin mischievously with enthusiastic eyes. “But I’ve always heard these parts are… full of spirits because of the… well, y’know.” A beat, then your knee is slowly pressing up against Eddie’s as you stare at the ground shyly with fluttering lashes. “Shame no one’s living up to Halloween tradition and making out — like you said — in… such a haunted place like this one.”

He exhales shakily, clenching his jaw when you curiously peer at him. “Most definitely.”

“I mean…” You giggle and turn your back to him, unable to see Eddie’s face contort into one of disappointment from the loss of physical contact. “I’m certain there’s an adorable, lovesick couple just bound to show up and fulfill…”

When you twirl around to teasingly look at Eddie, you nearly gasp out of surprise when you collide roughly with his chest. Your balance nearly gives way, but not before his pale hands grip onto your wrists and hold you upright. His knuckles are prominent, eyebrows pulled into a deep furrow and lips parted as his lust-blown pupils eagerly search yours.

He’s struggling.

And you think… this is finally it. Eddie Munson, the guy from the back of class who you’ve always kinda had a thing for, is gonna actually kiss you. Halloween night. 1986. Your peak.

But what he does next is almost as jarring as a kiss.

He carefully takes the blunt between your fingers, almost assessing the image of your lipstick stain on the end before he’s shamelessly putting his own mouth on it without hesitation. His eyes. His fucking eyes. They never leave yours, even when he inhales the joint deeply and quickly lets out an experienced exhale into your embarrassingly stunned face.

Whatever confidence you had going diminishes into a tangled ball of nothingness when Eddie holds the roll in front of your mouth, gaze half-lidded and tongue poking out from between his teeth.

“Open,” He says. And so you follow without protest, unblinking and suddenly submissive as he slips the joint back into its original place between your lips with a devilish chuckle. “Atta girl. Does what she’s told, doesn’t she?”

You gulp, only focusing on the taste of Eddie amongst the rolling paper. “Depends on who’s telling me.”

“Right, right. So, if I posed an idea… like well, fulfilling that very special tradition of… say, I don’t know, making out in a haunted place… just to make sure we’re really nailing the Halloween festivities here, little witch…” He humorously flicks at your hat, costumed horns bouncing while he begins to back you up against a tree. Eddie’s grin somehow widens even more, pearly-white canines on display as you slowly take a step back with each step he takes forward. “You definitely, definitely wouldn’t help me fulfill it, would you? Since it… after all, depends. And I’m sure the senior class president doesn’t take orders from… student delinquents like me.”

“Eddie…” You manage to breathe out, joint falling from your mouth as your back presses against the rough texture of tree bark.

“I mean, honestly, what are you doing all alone back here? Just… waiting for someone to stumble upon you and… what? What then, Y/N?” He laughs innocently, and you instinctively squeeze your thighs together as his fingers toy with the chains decorating his belt loops.

“Honestly?” You gaze up at him from beneath the black rim of your witch hat, mascara delicately framing the whites of your eyes. “Saw a tempting, red devil on the way here — thought he looked a little too lonely for a night like this one, especially when he just looked so good in such a simple costume. ‘Was hoping he’d find me… all alone, like you said.” You bite your lip. Eddie tilts his chin up and pins you with his eyes. “Was hoping that you’d find me all alone, and that I could… fuck, you looked bored at — at the party, and I figured you’d…”

“Come out and meet you…” Eddie finishes. You nod slowly.

“Halloween festivities, you know.”

He hums. “Right.” It’s silent for a good minute, until you feel Eddie’s hand ghost over your arm, trailing up your shoulder with such gentleness, you wouldn’t have even realized he had been touching you in the first place. “Well, I guess… if this place is haunted like you said, and if we’re the only two people out here…”

“Yeah?” Your voice comes out as a hushed whimper.

Eddie’s ears perk up at the sound. He pauses to catch his breath, desperately holding onto the remnants of his self-control.

“Then maybe, just maybe, we could always follow tradition. Is that… is that what you wanted, Y/N? For me to come out here just so we could make-out in the dark, away from the noise, tucked away deep in the forest where… no one can hear us? No matter how loud we’ll get?” A breathy moan escapes from the back of your throat, and Eddie realizes that he’s broken past whatever act you had going on. “That’s it, isn’t it? Hey, come on. Look at me, Y/N.” You raise your chin from your chest, meeting Eddie’s now softer eyes. “What do you want from me?”

He reaches for your hat, pulling it up and away from your face before his palms are resting against your cheeks. “Um, want you to…”

“To…” He spurs you on, stroking your skin with his thumbs.

In the shadows, Eddie’s face is so desperately close to yours that you can just smell the strong fragrance of his earthy cologne and the faint lingering taste of whatever he had been drinking.

All or nothing.

“To kiss me.” You swallow loudly, forcing the words out of your mouth. “Kiss me and… and don’t stop, please? Eddie?”

His eyes bore deep into yours, nothing but a lustful twinkle in his near-black pupils as he inhales deeply.

“Damn it, Y/N. All you had to do was fucking ask from the start.”

By the time the words finally leave him, Eddie’s lips are on you. It’s far from sweet, aching with a clandestine fervor as his mouth moves harshly against yours. Hot. Searing. Wet. Your fists are woven tightly amongst the cotton of his Hellfire shirt, and you kiss him helplessly with eyes clenched-shut, the sensation of his warm tongue keeping you in a trance.

Overpowering. Imperfect. Messy.

Yet, you want more of him.

You feel the soft tickle of his breath beneath your nose, fingers rustling through his hair as you cave into one another with unrestrained motion. Warmth blossoms in Eddie’s stomach as you lean back against the tree trunk to pull away, the fresh memory of your moans dancing against his pillowy lips while you stumble for air.

“Was that okay?” He whispers tenderly. You could almost burst out in laughter. How could his tone be so patient and friendly when his kiss had been nothing but wanton and needy? Slowly, a smile spreads across your cheeks, a weak nod following. “Can I do it again?”

“You can do anything you want.” You answer, brushing his hair away from his face before his hands drift down to your waist.

The action is suggestive, fingers leaving deep indents in the supple flesh of where hip-meets-thigh as he slips his knee between your legs. Then his mouth is on your body again. He’s more adventurous this second time around, letting his lips trail over your shoulder and the conch of your ear before he’s kissing his way down your outstretched throat — biting, licking, sucking.

He’s hard. Really hard.

“Fuck, Y/N…” His voice is whiny, nothing but a simple rasp filling the air as you sensually tend to his pale neck, teeth nibbling the skin until porcelain turns to a blooming red. “S-Sweetheart, hey… I don’t… fucking hell, don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t want to—“

“But I want to. I’m okay if you’re okay.”

“Shit, okay. Okay. I… fuck, I wasn’t expecting more than a kiss, but…” He moans embarrassingly loud when you tug at the curls of his hair, tilting his chin back so that you have more access to his throat. “Fuck, I hope you don’t think I’m like — like any of those assholes back there… just… looking for a quick fuck or anything….”

“Were you not?”

“Fine, maybe I was. Maybe I wanted to — to run into a… pretty girl like you… sitting alone out here, all dressed up with a shitty fucking lighter, by the way. Bet that was part of your plan too, huh? Reel me in and smoke that pathetic joint like you’re all tough?” Eddie cradles the back of your neck with his hand, whispering lewdly against your lips as he searches for another kiss. “God, you’re so hot. So hot.”

“You didn’t even k-know my name…”

“Shut it. I do now, and I want nothing more than — fuck, than to just say it over and over again until you get tired of hearing it.”

“Yeah?” You smirk against Eddie’s skin, glancing up at his beat-red face and the lopsided devil horns on his head before gingerly reaching up to toss them aside.

He’s a devil, alright.

Eddie nods eagerly, eyes cracking open when he feels your mouth leave him and the familiar clicking sound of his belt buckle. Holy fucking shit. “Oh, here? Like right here f-for real?” He gapes at you as you unbutton his jeans, slipping your hand into his pants to palm at the hard front of his boxers.

“Having second thoughts?”

“You’re… you’re fucking insane.” He chuckles in disbelief, groaning quietly when you rest your forehead against his shoulder and free his cock from his clothing. Glancing up at the sky, Eddie humorously whispers to himself. “Oh, crazy girls will just be the death of me.”

“Eddie, you’re so big…” You wrap your fingers around his swollen tip, moaning as you collect the pre-cum leaking from his slit. You pump him a couple times in your hand, grinning as Eddie’s face falls into the crook of your neck. “Dunno if it’ll fit me.”

“Mmm… oh, Y/N — fuck…”

“Feels good?” You lick at his earlobe, purring as you run your digits across the two veins on either side of the base.

Eddie’s weight against you is nearly crushing, but you can only pay attention to the feeling of his hard, heavy cock twitching in your grasp as you stroke him.

“Christ, feels amazing. Fuck, baby…” The pet name leaves him without hesitation. He chokes on his own moans, incoherent praises falling from his lips as he desperately splays his palm against the tree for leverage. His eyes follow the motion of you spitting into your hand, before you’re covering his dick in bubbly spit. “O-Oh, shit… that’s hot. Motherfuckin’ Ozzy… m’fuck, you’re jerking me off s-so well. God, I wonder how — wonder how tight you are…”

“Want you…” You confess, mewling in pleasure as his other palm kneads at your ass. “I bet you taste so good, Eddie.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” He groans needily, breaths stuttering in his throat as you sink to your knees. Leaves crunch beneath your limbs, sharp twigs digging into your calves as Eddie watches you tug his jeans lower down his hips. “Listen, o-once you put your mouth on me… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

“Mmm, stop what?” You innocently bat your lashes at him, gently flicking your tongue against his reddened head.

“To stop fucking your throat.” Eddie’s mouth falls ajar as soon as he feels you take him in. “I just… crap, I can’t help it. Just no self-control… please, let me fuck it? Yeah? Is that okay?” He whimpers. “Oh, you’re such a good girl, Y/N. Giving me all I-I want… fuck, can’t wait to get my hands on you…” Spit dribbles from your chin as you gag around him, feeling his dick poke against the back of your throat while he places his hands on either side of your head. “Look at you, baby. On your knees in the middle of t-the fucking forest… patiently waiting to have your entire mouth stuffed… s’what good girls do, don’t they?”

You scratch at the tattoos on his thighs as he gives one hard thrust into your face, nearly doubling back from the sudden force. Breathe. Just breathe through it. His cock isn’t necessarily too thick, but the length — god, he could split you open.

Eight inches, curve angling to the left, you can literally feel him prodding and poking at the inside of your cheek. Your fingers are curling against his skin, pornographic sounds erupting from the both of you as Eddie guides your head up and down his dick.

“Oh… little witch,” He chuckles devilishly, wiping the tears away from your eyes as he gently inches his cock further into your mouth. Sadist. “Don’t cry, it’s supposed to feel good. You like this, don’t you? God, what would all our classmates say if they walked in on this right now?” You nearly yelp as he pushes himself deeper into you, your knees giving out from under you so that you’re sat upright against the tree. “The super intelligent, super hot, senior class president… getting her mouth f-fucked by the resident freak… oh, just imagine the drama.”

Your legs are crudely spread open, dress covered in dirt and leaves as Eddie continues thrusting into your throat. All you can smell is him. All you can think about is Eddie Munson. How embarrassingly satisfying this all feels — just as much for you as for him.

“Fuck, Y/N. Your mouth is just… Christ, you’re perfect, aren’t you? Perfect thing. Perfect throat. Probably with an even better pussy… the things I wanna do to you. F-Fuck’s sake, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep looking at me like that, sweetheart.” He quickly pulls away, and it’s absolutely pathetic how you instinctively chase after his cock with your tongue until he’s tugging you up onto your feet. “Pretty girl, oh, look at you… wish you could see how messy you look right now. So fucking hot, so fucking dirty, you are.”

“E-Eddie…” You whimper as his teeth pinch at your collarbones, marking the tops of your breasts until he’s grown feral at the sight of his hickies on your skin. His dick is hard against your thigh, and only then are you reminded of how your cunt is helplessly throbbing at the sight of it. “Please, I… please, need you inside m-me…”

His hand roughly grasps at your chin.

“Yeah? Aw, you’re a needy thing, aren’t you? Such a filthy mouth for a good little slut…” He chuckles, mirroring your pout as his grip tightens. “Maybe we should wash it out, hm? All this flattery is just getting to my head. Come on. Say, ah.”

“Ah…” You moan as he spits onto your tongue, a string of saliva connecting your bottom lips together before he’s pulling you in for another heated kiss. His hands are bruising, his fingers cruel, his touch burning. “Please, Eddie…”

“Please what?”

“Please touch my — my…”

He smirks lustfully, brushing the moisture away from your lashes. “Oh, your pussy? Anything for you, sweetheart.” You yelp as he suddenly turns you around, cock twitching against your clothed ass. He pushes against you, walking you over to the rickety picnic table until you’re bent over the edge. “Boutta treat you so well, Y/N. Just relax for me. Gonna put my fingers inside you, is that cool?” You nod wordlessly, splinters digging into your palms as Eddie flips up your dress, hissing at the sight of your exposed cunt. “No… no panties, huh? Seriously? Fuck, you’re gonna kill me. Such a pretty ass… pretty holes…” He groans, swiping his thumb over your clit. You jolt at the sensation, shoulders heaving as he quickly swirls it over your entrance. “You’re so wet and already so sensitive… s’driving me insane. How am I ever gonna last?”

You cry out when he pushes his middle finger into you, juices squelching around his rings as he slowly fucks the nimble digit in and out of your sopping pussy. “F-Fuck, Eddie… I… feels so g-good, baby.”

“Yeah? Baby, huh? Love hearing you talk me through it. Tell me, have you always fantasized getting fingered out here? That’s a little sick in the head, don’t you think? And they call me a freak…” You glance at him over your shoulder, moaning unapologetically as he adds another finger. “Mmm, alright, you’re getting a bit loud. Fuck, you want that party to catch us? Catch us making a mess of each other back here… making each other feel so, so good?”

You knew Eddie had a dark, dirty side to him. There was no way he didn't have one, especially when he’d come to school dressed like that — chains on display for girls and guys to gawk at, rings decorating his fingers like they were his favorite asset.

Yeah. He’s just as fucked in the head, maybe even more.

You’re just glad you get to be the one to experience it.

“I don’t care. Let them hear us… fuck — it’s just…. oh, god… your fingers are just… they fill me so well. Just imagine your… your cock inside me, just wrecking my cunt, until I can’t take it anymore.” Eddie grabs you by the throat, letting his hand fall to your breasts and stomach as you fuck yourself on his fingers. “Oh, please, please, please!”

“Are you gonna cum? God, you’re having so much fun right now, you can’t even speak. Answer me, baby.” He cooes, the tip of his cock pressing against the sore cheek of your ass.

You screw your eyes shut, zeroing in on the pulsing pressure in your cunt. “Y-Yes! If you keep — if you keep touching me like that, I’m gonna…”

“No, you aren’t. You’re not gonna cum for me just yet.”

“But…”

“Nu-uh, no, no cumming.” Eddie’s mouth hovers over your ear. “Good girls cum when they're supposed to. Don’t change up on me now, Y/N. You’ve been doing so well.”

“I’m s-sorry, I can’t… can’t hold it…” You let out a strangled grunt when his fingers dig into your pulse points, fully constricting your airway as he hooks an arm around your stomach and pulls you to his chest. “Eddie, please. Wanna — wanna cum for you, just this once, an exception…”

“An exception? Sweetheart, I don’t even know you.” His eyes nearly roll back into his skull when your ass desperately grinds against him, your hand coming to rest back on his thigh as he subconsciously rocks against your shivering frame. “Fuck, but I guess I-I can try to get to know you, make it worth my while… an exception, tonight only. S’okay, Y/N. You can cum for me. Cum all you want, as hard as you need to.”

As soon as your thighs quiver around his hand, he lets go of your throat, using his now-free one to circle over your clit. You hadn’t even realized he’d been using three fingers to fuck your cunt — shit, when did that ever happen?

His mouth is hot against the slope of your shoulder, mirroring your mewls as you come undone all over his rings and knuckles. The heavy silver drips with your juices, slick coating the soft heel of his palm and the shuddering tip of Eddie’s aching cock. Your face is glazed over, chest rising and falling deeply as you collapse over the edge of the table in pure bliss.

“Fuck… fuck, that was so… good…” Eddie turns you in your hands, hoisting you up on the surface and barely giving you time to recover before you feel something slip between your folds. “Oh!” His thick head splits you open, a satisfying sting running through your body as he bottoms out and molds himself against your front. “E-Eddie!”

“I’m sorry. I know, I know it’s a lot for you, sweetheart…” He cups his hand over your mouth, muffling your sobs as he stills inside you. “Feels good though, yeah? Fuck, I can feel you squeezin’ me — holy shit, baby. Is this what you wanted? Is this your — your definition of Halloween tradition… getting your pussy filled up with my cock? You love it. You fucking love it, I can tell. I just couldn’t wait to have you… and it’s everything I-I could’ve ever dreamed of.”

“S’big, s’too big, Eds…”

“Hey, I got you…” He whispers, cradling your jaw in his palm. His warm, big eyes meet yours, a comforting brown lulling you into a trance as he thumbs at your lip. He leans in to kiss you, mouth slow and patient against yours as you gasp into him. “Gonna t-take care of you, promise. You’re gonna look so… so fucking hot with my… cum just drippin’ out…”

Eddie jerks his cock into you, before thrusting the rest of his length inside without forewarning. You cry out, vision blurring as he picks your witch hat off of the empty bench and places it on your head. “There we go, little witch… scream all you want, cry all you want… they won’t h-hear you…” Eddie pants out, purring as you reach under his shirt and run your nails down his toned stomach. “Not when they’re — fuck, blasting that awful fucking music…

“E-Eddie! Holy f-fucking shit!”

“Oh, such a shame they won’t hear all the pretty noises we make together.”

Your legs wrap around his hips, boots digging into the fabric of his cape as he fucks you hard into the creaking table. He rests his forehead to yours, nudging your nose with a sudden and sweet tenderness that has your walls fluttering around his prick.

Eddie Munson is ruthlessly fucking you in the forest.

And he’s fucking you hard.

Your hat is falling into your face. His lean arms are the only thing keeping you upright, the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and pornographic moans filling the woodsy atmosphere. His cock pounds into your g-spot over and over again, thrusts sloppy and amateur as Eddie rests your ankles onto his shoulders for better access to your cunt.

Sure, you got up to bad things on Halloween… but this? This certainly takes the cake.

It’s absolute filth — with his long hair sticking to your sweaty skin, the stench of wet soil fighting Eddie’s musky cologne, the slick between your thighs as you cum for a second time around his length, milking him to his very-much-needed orgasm.

You can’t tell if it’s a grunt or a sob or a moan, but Eddie buries the noises against your tender neck, hips bucking lazily as he finally releases his spill into your pussy. He stutters and pulsates inside you, the angry head of his cock throbbing as he comes down from his high.

“Jesus, M-Mary, and Ozzy…” Eddie sighs out, whimpering while you lay back against the table and wipe the runny mascara away from your eyes. His own eyeliner is smudged too — almost a little too racoon-y for his liking — but it doesn’t matter.

Doesn’t matter when his cum is seeping out of your cunt and onto the wooden tabletop beneath you. Doesn’t matter when he watches you physically shake from your orgasm and takes in the sight of your bloodied knees.

Definitely doesn’t matter when you glance down at him and give him the prettiest fucked-out smile he’s ever seen.

Yeah, that’s for sure staying ingrained in his head.

“Fucking hell.” You breathe out, biting the nail of your thumb as Eddie gently nudges his seed back into your pussy with his fingers, obviously distracted. “Hey.”

How could he make such a dirty act seem absolutely innocent?

He shyly returns the grin, pulling his boxers and jeans up before he’s wrestling with the chains around his belt buckle. “Hey, you.”

“Help me up?” You stick your palm out, mirroring the same manner of the handshake you had given him in your first twenty seconds of speaking to each other. Eddie effortlessly pulls you off of the table, keeping a cautious arm around your waist when your legs start to wobble beneath you. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You take note of the way his nose lingers by the top of your head, inhaling your scent with a sudden yearning that makes your heart quicken when you bump against his chest.

Awkward clearings of throats, shy double takes and silent gazes at each other as you fix your wild appearances. Eddie’s unsure of what to say — goodbye? Farewell? Thank you? See you again?

God, would it be so lame if he wanted the last option?

But you beat him to it, syllables nervously strung together as you toy with his devil-horn headband in your hands. “Well, you, um, definitely lived up to tradition.”

“Did I now? Honestly just wondering how no one heard us.”

“Come on, it’s Halloween night in the middle of a haunted forest.” You blink up at him, fixing the rim of your witch hat as he peers down at you. “Have you ever seen a horror movie? You never go towards the screaming. It’s like the number one, all-time logical rule.”

Eddie waves a hand around, laughing comfortably at your presence of lightheartedness. “Oh, yeah. Never. For sure.” He huffs, glancing at his shoes before locking onto your soft eyes. His brain haywires at the sight of your doting expression, a contrast to the filthy-mouthed girl he had just been dealing with earlier. “Never.”

Snap out of it.

You clear your throat, dusting the front of your dress off as Eddie squares his shoulders and straightens his back. “So… then… I guess…”

He points at the dirt path leading to the party. “Right…”

“I’ll…”

“See you around?” He coughs out in a hopeful tone.

You don’t answer, just slowly stride past him with crunchy footsteps and a youthful smirk.

Then you’re suddenly turning on your heels and barrelling back to him, a warm hand cupping his jaw as you press a chaste kiss to his cheekbone. Eddie savors the moment, refusing to shut his eyes when you reach up on your tippy-toes and slip his horned headband back onto his mess of curls.

He looks at you as if you’ve just killed him. “You’re really something, you know that?”

Your stomach flutters. “Look, I enjoyed… tonight. And I… if ever you… you wanted to continue tradition…”

“Yeah?” He raises a brow.

“I mean, like… it doesn’t have to be yearly and it doesn’t have to be Halloween, but I…” You take a deep breath, letting your fingers trail down his jaw before your hand falls limp at your side. “I enjoyed. That’s it. And whenever you feel a bit… festive…” You exhale loudly, glancing away as Eddie tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just come looking for me.”

You’re being absolutely serious with him.

“Okay.”

“Good.” You turn back and make a beeline for the party, unable to hide the blossoming smile on your face when you hear the familiar hymn of Eddie’s voice abruptly calling out your name. “Yes?”

A glimmering object is tossed in your direction, landing in your palms as you instinctively reach out to catch it.

His lighter.

“Keep it. It’s all yours.”

Somehow, your grin widens even more. “I’ll see you around, then.”

Maybe Eddie Munson is a Halloween kind-of-guy. So, fuck Valentine’s, because he could get used to this. Used to you. Either way, he’s glad that he’s still got more game than Jeff and Gareth — not that he seriously doubted it in the first place, but the assurance is there.

Turns out the sexy, red gothic devil worked out for him in the end, anyways.

“See you around, little witch.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things oneshot

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sideprince · 4 months

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Eileen Prince

I'm relentlessly curious about how a witch from Slytherin, a house that values cunning and ambition on paper, and bloodlines/nobility in its culture, ended up living in a muggle slum.

Unfortunately for me, she's a barely mentioned character written by an author who consistently fails to portray female characters with depth or dimension. The women in Harry Potter are portrayed as either maternal or villains, or, in Ginny Weasley's case, as redeemed by their masculine traits (because Rowling's Thatcher era feminism dictates that equality for women = emulating patriarchal ideas of manhood). About as much as you can expect from an author who's as unable to acknowledge the personhood of trans women as she is to write women as actual people. This leaves a lot of room for interpreting or delving into what Eileen Prince's life may have looked like, and how that would have affected her son's development.

There are three direct mentions of Eileen in the text :

“The picture showed a skinny girl of around fifteen. She was not pretty; she looked simultaneously cross and sullen, with heavy brows and a long, pallid face. Underneath the photograph was the caption: Eileen Prince, Captain of the Hogwarts Gobstones Team.”

HBP Ch. 25

“I was going through the rest of the old Prophets and there was a tiny announcement about Eileen Prince marrying a man called Tobias Snape, and then later an announcement saying that she’d given birth to a" “ — murderer,” spat Harry.

HBP ch. 30

“Harry looked around: he was on platform nine and three-quarters, and Snape stood beside him, slightly hunched, next to a thin, sallow-faced, sour-looking woman who greatly resembled him.”

DH Ch. 33

(Shoutout to Harry James Potter, who didn't recognize Eileen's fifth year photo despite her resemblance to Snape, the teacher whose classroom he got his used Potions book from. Shoutout also to Harry James Potter who didn't connect the dots between the Prince's handwriting and Snape's, a teacher who regularly wrote instructions on the board. "I needed to make the plot work, ok?" - JK Rowling, probably.)

Other relevant excerpts:

“Snape staggered - his wand flew upwards, away from Harry - and suddenly Harry’s mind was teeming with memories that were not his: a hook-nosed man was shouting at a cowering woman, while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner ”

OoTP Ch. 26

“Harry delved into his trunk and pulled out his copy of Advanced Potion-Making before getting into bed. There he turned its pages, searching, until he finally found, at the front of the book, the date that it had been published. It was nearly fifty years old.”

HBP Ch. 16

Supplemental material re: Gobstones from JK Rowling:

"...it remains a minority sport within the wizarding world, and does not enjoy a very ‘cool’ reputation, something its devotees tend to resent. Gobstones is most popular among very young wizards and witches, but they generally ‘grow out’ of the game, becoming more interested in Quidditch as they grow older. ... Gobstones enjoys limited popularity at Hogwarts, ranking low among recreational activities, way behind Quidditch and even Wizarding Chess." [There's an additional sentence on the Harry Potter wiki's Gobstones page: "...it is also known as 'the thinking wizard's Quidditch.'"]

A few conclusions can be drawn from what little information we're given about Eileen:

She's described as "cross and sullen" around the age of 15, and as "sallow-faced, sour-looking" when she's older.

She's captain of the Gobstones club around her fifth year, so she likely marched to the beat of her own drum - given that Gobstones isn't particularly popular - and owns it proudly enough to take, or even seek out, a leadership role.

The sport is described as "the thinking wizard's Quidditch" which would imply Eileen was more interested in intellectual challenges and was clever (and can be paralleled with a young Severus' comment about "if you'd rather be brawny than brainy" to James Potter when they first meet on the Hogwarts Express).

Her marriage and the birth of her son are both announced in the paper, which might mean the family she came from was of some importance or note, or perhaps something else... but we'll get to that.

If we assume that Severus' secondhand copy of Advanced Potion Making was originally Eileen's (reasonable, though there is no textual evidence) then its publication date is likely around the time she was a sixth year, given that this particular text was specific to students beginning to prep for N.E.W.T. exams. Harry begins his sixth year in 1996 when the book is "nearly fifty years old," so we can assume Eileen was 16 years old sometime not long after 1946. Severus was born in 1960, which would mean Eileen was in her mid-late 20s at the time.

Her marriage was dysfunctional at best, abusive at worst. As per a Pottermore post that is still up on WizardingWorld.com: "...the desperately lonely and unhappy childhood [Severus] had with a harsh father who didn’t hold back when it came to the whip." Based on this, we can assume Tobias was abusive, and given Eileen's cowering as he shouted at her, she presumably feared him.

From these bits of information emerges the image of a woman who either had a surly personality, or at the very least was guarded, though perhaps just formal. There isn't really any difference in how her face is set when she's in an everyday setting like King's Cross, or when she's having her picture taken for the Gobstones Club. It's possible she was a stern, unsmiling person, but it's also possible - given that her wedding and child were announced in the paper - that she came from a family of some standing and was raised to conduct herself with hallmarks of British class, such as dignity and unaffectedness. After all, there are several wizarding families - such as the Potters - who are wealthy purebloods with social standing but are not part of the Sacred 28. Additionally, the Gobstones Club portrait would have been taken around the mid-1940s, when portraits were formal and their subjects did not often smile, and given that we see only a snippet of Eileen, we don't have enough information that she was unhappy or sour. It's also important to remember that we see her portrait and Snape's memory of her through Harry's perspective and, like his perception of Snape himself, this may convey Harry's biases.

We also know from the text that Snape had a house in a deserted part of Cokeworth, a fictional Midlands town that presumably had a collapsed milling industry, at the end of a street called Spinner's End. There's a great thread that goes into details about the kind of 2 up 2 down house it would have been, and we can assume that this is Snape's family home given that we know he and Lily grew up in Cokeworth. For all intents and purposes, the conclusion we can draw from this being the Snape family's home in the 60s is that they were working class and cripplingly poor. Most estates like this had been cleared by the 60s, and no longer exist today.

This begs the question: how did a witch from a possibly well-off family end up in an abusive marriage in an irrelevant slum?

Buckle up kids, we're leaving the world of textual references and veering into deep meta territory now. I won't label any of this as head canon because I'm not set on these interpretations, and am just drawing conclusions from the text, but some of it may be a bit loose even for meta.

If Eileen was 16 years old not long after 1946, then she would have finished school in the late 40s, possibly even 1950. While some people (including past me) posit the theory that Tobias may have been injured in WWII and his injuries debilitated him, forcing him to go on the dole and affecting his mental health, I'm increasingly skeptical of this theory. It would make more sense if Eileen had known him before he was drafted/enlisted and had committed to a relationship with him, which would then have changed when he came back from the war and was altered. If we assume Eileen's age based on the idea that it was her own copy of Advanced Potion Making Severus used, then she would still have been at school during WWII (which makes an interesting parallel with Severus' own experience of spending the bulk of the first wizarding war against Voldemort as a student at school).

I do think, however, that there's merit in the theory that Tobias suffered some kind of altering injury and that he wasn't necessarily abusive before Eileen committed herself to him. It makes little sense for a Slytherin graduate who was confident and self-posessed enough to be the face of an unpopular club to be drawn to a partner so abusive his shouts caused her to cower and who whipped his child freely. If, however, he was a charming, happy man when they met who suffered a life-altering injury, the trauma of which left him a shell of his former self, then someone like Eileen might stick around for the sake of the parts of his old self she can still see in him.

It's interesting that she didn't seem to use her magic to protect herself or her son, or even to dress her son in clothing that fit, but we know from the text that depression can cause a wizard's powers to wane:

“...it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen”

HBP Ch. 13 (Dumbledore talking about Merope Gaunt)

The fact that the Snapes retained the house in Spinner's End seems to indicate that they continued to live there even when the local industry dried up and the slum was cleared as workers were moved to other parts of the country where they were needed (presumably what happened given *gestures at British history*). The most likely explanation for this would be that Tobias wasn't able to work, and perhaps did suffer an injury, only it was at work, and not during the war. This would mean the family lived on the dole (ie. welfare) and also that he would have spent a lot more time at home. It would also explain his anger and frustration that led to abusive behavior (which isn't to say that disabled people are abusive by any means, but it would have been emasculating for a man who considered himself the breadwinner in the 60s, and chronic pain coupled with limited abilities would give anyone a short fuse).

Moreover, this living situation seems to indicate that there is no additional support coming from anywhere. Where is Eileen's family? Why were they not helping? There's no indication in the text that there is any connection with them at all. We can infer from Snape's memories that, as a child, he learned what he knew about the magical world from his mother. This implies that she talked to him about it a fair amount, and his conviction that he and Lily were going to Hogwarts well before they got their letters also implies that Eileen expected him to go there and was set on her son having a magical education, despite how little she seemed to use her own powers.

Severus knows a lot about the wizarding world as a child, including that prisoners are sent to Azkaban and that it's guarded by Dementors, Hogwarts' house structure and what to expect when he and Lily get there, and about the Statute of Secrecy and the laws around it. When Lily asks him if it makes a difference being Muggleborn, Severus hesitates before replying no, presumably because he's aware of pureblood bias being a part of wizarding culture.

Perhaps that's the reason Eileen's family doesn't seem to be in the picture. My own theory is that Eileen hadn't planned to commit herself to Tobias long-term, and Severus was an accidental outcome of an innocent tryst in which a young Eileen, an educated witch from a well to do pureblood family, was having fun slumming it with a working class muggle and ended up pregnant. While we don't know the wizarding world's attitude around pregnancy and abortion, we do know it's a conservative and classist society that parallels muggle British culture fairly closely, and that the late 50s/early 60s were a time when an out of wedlock baby would have been considered a disgrace.

Add to that the anti-muggle bias of a pureblood family and it sounds like Eileen was disowned her for her mistake (and don't @ me, but even though I know that not all Slytherins are purebloods, it does seem to be a persistent cultural value of the house reaching back to Salazar Slytherin himself, so Eileen's being sorted into it can reasonably be taken as an indication of her blood status). Perhaps the marriage and birth announcements in the Daily Prophet were put in by Eileen herself, if she was a woman from a family where this was customary. It may have been her way of letting her family know of the events, or even of asserting herself and even deliberately defying them, announcing to the whole wizarding world that a Prince married and had a child with a muggle. It makes sense that the girl who wasn't just in the Gobstones club, but became captain, would also say to herself, why shouldn't I have my marriage announced in the paper like everyone else in the family?

It's worth noting that mid-late 20s is pretty young to have a baby in the wizarding world, where the life expectancy and child bearing years are much longer than they are for a muggle. According to the Harry Potter wiki:

"Wizard life expectancy in Britain reached an average 137¾ years in the mid-1990s, according to the Ministry of Divine Health ... Wizards in general have a much longer life expectancy than Muggles, usually living two or three times as long as their non magical counterparts, some living even longer than that depending on circumstances. In addition, seeing as James Potter's parents had him "late in life,” witches likely have significantly longer childbearing years than Muggle women."

Although we see several characters in Severus' generation getting married and having kids not long after leaving school, there's a mention in the text that a lot of people were doing this during Voldemort's reign, as the fear he inspired made people more eager to get a move on with life since they thought they might die any day (I think Mrs. Weasley says this but I can't find the quote, @ me if you do). It's clear this wasn't the norm in the wizarding world. Eileen was a Slytherin, a house that values cunning, ambition, and strong wizarding heritage. Something must have gone very wrong in Eileen's life for her to end up having a child so young and living in a muggle slum.

And so it's possible Eileen Prince found herself pregnant and alone, having been disowned by her family to save face in light of her disgrace, and dependent on the only person she was still close to, the father of her child. It's the kind of storyline that Rowling would write, and it would parallel fairly closely the story of Voldemort's mother, thus adding another to the long list of similarities between Voldemort and Snape.

Lorrie Kim makes an interesting point when she talks about how Snape has a strong reaction to other people having a love life or romantic experiences (the context being Rowling's intention of his love for Lily being romantic and unrequited), but doesn't react particularly strongly to mothers sacrificing themselves for their children, whereas Voldemort does. Her insight, and I think it's a reasonable one, is that Severus accepts the idea of mothers making sacrifices for their children, whether it's Lily giving her life for Harry or Narcissa risking all she did to ask for his help in protecting Draco, because his own mother protected him from his father as much as she could.

There's a lot of room for interpretation on what Eileen's relationship with her son looked like, and what it says about her own state. She may have prioritized not angering Tobias to protect Severus, who as a child might have perceived her actions as a form of rejection. At the same time, she seems to have prepared him thoroughly for life in the magical world, perhaps in the hope that he would find his place in it and escape home. Perhaps she missed it and told him so much about it so she could live through her own memories.

The only time we see her argue with Tobias, in Severus' memory, she's cowering as he shouts. We know from JK Rowling that Tobias used corporal punishment liberally, which implies Eileen didn't stop him despite her magical abilities. We also see in the text, however, that while at school Severus stood up for himself against bullies and fought back, and that he was an exceptionally clever and powerful wizard. As an adult he was brave enough to face Dumbledore when he betrayed Voldemort, and later fought against Voldemort right under his nose (or lack thereof). So it stands to reason that at some point Severus began to stand up against Tobias too.

How much of that was Eileen's influence, or the result of Severus seeing her acceptance of her fate and rejecting it for himself, is hard to say. As for what happened to Tobias and Eileen that their house was Severus' by the mid-90s and they were nowhere in sight, I don't think there's enough information in the text to infer.

#meta #long post #eileen prince

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betterthanapokeintheeye · 8 months

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Tiffany Aching's Guide to Being a Witch

[Event News]

TIffany Aching's Guide to being a Witch with Rhianna Pratchett and Gabrielle Kent at The British Library

Date: Fri 27 Oct 2023, 15:00 - 16:15

Location: Pigott Theatre, The Knowledge Centre, The British Library, 96 Euston Road, London, NW1 2DB

This event takes place in the British Library and will be simultaneously live streamed on the British Library platform. Tickets may be booked either to attend in person, or to watch on our platform (online) either live or within 48 hours on catch up. Viewing links will be sent out shortly before the event.

‘They say you don't find witchcraft, it finds you…’

Whether you're a herbologist or a headologist, this book will inspire and empower new witches and seasoned practitioners alike.

Tiffany Aching first appeared in Terry Pratchett's Discworld series of fantasy novels, starting with The Wee Free Men (2003). Tiffany grows up over the course of the series, from nine years old in the first book to being in her late teens in the last, The Shepherd's Crown.

Join us as Rhianna Pratchett and Gabrielle Kent introduce Tiffany Aching’s Guide To Being A Witch – a practical guide to being a witch in Discworld, covering everything you've ever wanted to know from telling the bees to magical cheese, from dealing with elves to making deals with demons, from tending flocks to fending off forces from other worlds.

This beautiful and practical guide has been compiled by Tiffany Aching herself, including snippets of remembered wisdom from Granny Aching alongside notes from Granny Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg, Miss Tick, and Rob Anybody who offer their own unique perspectives on all things witchcraft. Whether you're a herbologist or a headologist, this book will inspire and empower new witches and seasoned practitioners alike.

Tiffany Aching’s Guide To Being A Witch, co-written by Rhianna and Gabrielle, celebrates the 20th anniversary of the first Tiffany Aching story which first appeared in Sir Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series.

Suited to audiences aged 11 +

This event is an In-Person and Online Event.

#terry pratchett #books #discworld #rhianna pratchett #tiffany aching #gabrielle kent

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servantofthefates · 2 months

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The Spell to Make Your Wish Come True

“Yadas scolyah Sacul snuycale ynocaj aiahisah oniniey, pes, satitca enrab dul ynenod aye ubei eur, ahav, ailaiv, eye. Eiv ayhah oyah ayas anlas iahah, icuc ayay. Lehenele, an anev; autes.”

1) Memorize the orison.

Ancient orisons are powerful not simply because they are in Latin or in another old language. They draw their power from all the witches throughout the centuries who have used them.

Memorize this letter for letter, punctuation per punctuation. Note which words are capitalized and which are not. You are not allowed to copy it. You have to know it by heart.

2) Acquire a new journal.

The smallest you can find. Make sure its materials are natural and that its pages are not lined.

Using a pencil, write your wish on the very first page. Make it succinct but specific. Erasures and corrections are not allowed. They show weakness of intention. If you make a mistake, obtain another journal.

3) Write down the orison.

The next day, when you wake up, the first thing you must do – before peeing, drinking water, brushing your teeth or praying – is write down the orison on the second page. Again, no mistakes.

Do the same the next day, and the one after that. Always write on a new page. Do it for as many days as the number of words you used in your wish. If your wish is, “I wish to get married before my 21st birthday”, then you must do it for nine days.

4) Burn the journal.

Once you are finished, wait for a night when the moon is a waxing crescent, and burn the journal in your front yard. Not in your backyard. You want it in your future, not to leave it in the past.

Collect the ashes in a jar.

5) Cook your favorite meal.

Immediately after, cook your favorite meal. Add all the ashes in. Serve the meal on a silver platter and place it in your front yard, exactly where you burned your journal. This is your payment to whoever old one read your wish as you burned it.

If by sunrise, the platter has ants, worms or other insects in it, as well as signs of having been touched, then your payment was accepted and your wish will be granted. If not… if it looks just as you left it… it means greater powers interfered. Your wish is simply not destined.

#Ancient spells #Traditional spells #Spells #Witch tips #servantofthefates #Witchblr #Traditional witchcraft #All About Spells

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lixzey · 6 months

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Monster Among Men

wc: 3.4k

September 1, 1977

It was a well-known fact that Y/n Potter and Regulus Black despised each other. The two had been at each other's throats since the day they met on the Hogwarts Express. Y/n and Regulus were like fire and ice. They were polar opposites and hated each other with every fiber of their being.

Their rivalry began with petty insults and minor jinxes, but over time it grew into a deep-seated hatred for each other. They were competitive in everything they did, from Academic success to Quidditch, and their constant feuding had become notorious among the rest of the student body. No matter how much the two of them attempted to avoid one another, somehow their paths always ended up crossing with one another and it would usually end up with Y/N screaming and prefects pulling the two away from each other before anyone got hurt—meaning, the bystanders who often got hit by stray hexes and jinxes. That being said, everyone knew better than to be in the way when Y/n Potter and Regulus Black were both in the same room.

Platform nine and three quarters was bustling with students as it was every first of September. As a sixth year student, Y/n should've been used to it by now. But every time her eyes met with the scarlet steam engine train, she felt like a little first year, eager to learn magic on her own. Like every other student on the platform, her parents were fussing over her, making sure that she had everything that she needed for the whole term.

“Yes, Mum. I have everything in my trunk, and yes I'll keep out of trouble. Honestly Mum, you should reserve this speech for Jamie. He's head boy, he can get away with everything now.” Y/n chuckled as her mother ruffled her hair.

“Well, can I at least expect you to keep your brothers in line?” Euphemia asked her daughter, casting a look at James and Sirius—who is now an honorary Potter since Christmas of 1976.

“You know Jamie and Sirius, Mum. They're bloody menaces.”

“Language, young lady.” Fleamont chuckled, “But, you're right. Just….make sure they won't do anything reckless?”

“I'll try, Dad. But I'm not liable for anything.” Y/n giggled as she hugged her mother.

“James! Sirius!” Euphemia called for her sons, “Take care of your sister, alright? It's your final year with her.”

“Of course, Mum! I'll keep an eye out for tiny Potter.” Sirius chuckled as he put his arm around Y/n, earning a glare from the petite witch.

“Yeah, we'll make sure no one messes with my baby sister. Any boy who'll ask her out will go through us.” James grinned at his little sister, who rolled her eyes at him.

“Honestly, Jamie.” Y/n shook her head.

“No boyfriends until you're thirty, baby sis.” James smirked.

“James, let your sister have some fun.” Euphemia chuckled as tried to flatten James' hair, which didn't make any difference.

“I agree with James. No boyfriends for you until you're thirty years old, my little angel.” Fleamont hugged his daughter tightly.

“Let the girl live, Monty. She won't be a little girl forever.” Euphemia glared at her husband, “You too, James, Sirius.”

“Fine.” All three men huffed, earning a giggle from both women.

“Go on, my darlings. Get on the train,” Euphema chuckled, wrapping her arm around her husband's waist, “be sure to write!”

The Potter siblings along with Sirius stepped onto the train, waving at their parents as the train departed. The trio then walked to their compartment, which the Marauders claimed at the end of their second year.

“Hey Moony.” Y/n smiled as she entered the compartment, “Where's Pete?“

“Not sure,” Remus shrugged, “Haven't seen him yet.”

“I bet he's with that Hufflepuff bird.” Sirius said as he sat across Remus, “Wormtail's been pining after the girl for a year.”

“Well, if he is with her, good for him. He got the girl, unlike Jamie here.” Y/n chuckled, sitting beside Remus.

James rolled his eyes at his sister as he sat beside Sirius, “Mark my words, Evans will be mine by the end of the year.”

“Yeah, yeah, Prongsie. You've been telling us that for the last six years.”

“Good luck, Jamie. You're gonna need it more than ever.” Y/n giggled, patting her brother on his cheek.

“Evans will love me, I just know it.” James sighed contentedly.

“Yuck,” Sirius playfully cringed, “You look like a lovesick puppy again.” Y/n burst out laughing, almost falling out of her seat.

“I hate you guys.” James huffed playfully.

“You love us.” Sirius grinned cheekily.

“You boys go ahead and talk…..boy stuff. I'm going to find Lily before the Head's meeting.” Y/n said as she got up, fixing the muggle clothes, flattening out any wrinkles, making sure she looked a bit presentable. “I'll be back in a bit.” she smiled at the boys before stepping out of the compartment.

“Pitch in a good word about me to Evans!” James yelled from behind her. Y/n kept on walking, a smile on her lips. Her brother was hopelessly in love with the feisty redhead, Lily Evans.

Y/n walked down the long corridor of the train, scanning each compartment for her red-headed best friend. Suddenly, the smell of sea salt, eucalyptus, sandalwood, and firewhiskey invaded her nostrils, and before she was even aware of its presence, Y/n collided with something hard.

“You should watch where you're going, Potter.” His voice was as deep as the atlantic and emerald eyes locked into her hazel ones, as if he was staring into her soul. It was Regulus Black, the person she hated the most. Despite hating the Slytherin, Y/n couldn't help but notice changes in him. He didn't look like that boy who pushed her aside years ago. Y/n would be daft if she didn't admit that Regulus Black was drop dead gorgeous. His hair was much shorter than what she last saw, his curls framed his face better unlike the slicked back style he wore for the past five years. He looked like Sirius, though Regulus' aristocratic features were more defined—his jawline sharper than his older brother. The only thing left from the boy was his perpetual scowl.

Y/n scoffed, snapping out of her thoughts, “You bumped into me, Black.”

“Still not paying attention where you're going huh, Potter? Strutting around like you're some kind of goddess.” He sneered, looking her up and down.

“I do not strut, Black.” Y/n snapped.

“Oh, but you do, my dearest Potter.” Regulus spat as he glared at the smaller witch in front of him.

“You, you, pompous, arrogant git!”

“Ah, we're back to the petty insults?” He smirked, “Of course, it's practically tradition at this point.”

“You insufferable prat,” Y/n spat, “get out of my bloody way.’’

“Gladly.” He pushed past the little witch, shoving her slightly to the side.

Y/n let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. She then stormed back to the compartment, Lily would have to wait. As soon as she opened the doors, she immediately sat beside her brother, in an effort to calm herself down.

“What's got your knickers in a twist, tiny Potter?” Sirius asked tentatively.

Y/n shot him a dirty look before sighing, “Your fucking brother.”

“Just ignore him, Y/n.” Remus sighed, closing his book. “He's not worth it.”

“What did he do this time?” Sirius snickered while James snorted. Y/n didn't understand they found her misery funny. Every time that Y/N complained about the younger Black, they'd find a way to make it hilarious.

“He bumped into me, again. Told me I was strutting!” Y/n huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Reggie is a prat, tiny Potter. He's mummy's little boy, a spoiled git at best.” Sirius laughed.

“I don't care. If he crosses me again, I'm going to break his pretty little face.”

Remus raised a brow, “Oh, so you think he's pretty?”

Y/n's eyes widened, “W-what? No! I don't think—”

Sirius smirked, “Pretty face, huh?”

“He looks like you, Padfoot! Of course, he has a pretty face.” Y/n insisted, her cheeks flushing.

“Oi, quit teasing my sister.” James huffed, “She doesn't fancy your brother, Pads. Y/n/n despises him, more than we hate Snivellus.”

“Well, the blush on her cheeks says otherwise, Prongsie.” Sirius chuckled.

“I do not and will never fancy Regulus Black!” Y/n snapped, shooting a threatening glare at Sirius.

Regulus Black was the leader of the prats, according to Y/n Potter. It was nothing new, for everyone else, seeing them bicker almost every day. There was no way in hell that Y/n would like him, she would rather drown in the black lake. He was an insufferable git for all the years that Y/n knew him and she'd rather punch him in the face.

“Enough of that,” James stood up, offering his hand out to Y/n. “We need to get to the prefect's carriage.” Y/n's scowl turned into a bright smile. “Oh, right! I'll just go and change into my robes. Now, all of you, get out.” James and Remus chuckled, while Sirius pouted, “Oh come on, tiny Potter, grace my eyes-” James hit him on the head, “Pervert.”

The trio stepped out of the compartment, giving the younger witch privacy. After a few minutes, Y/n stepped out wearing her Gryffindor robes with a shiny prefect badge pinned onto the left side robes.

“Authority looks good on you, Y/n,” Sirius grinned, “You can boss me around and I'd-”

“My sister, Padfoot!” James growled.

“Oh please, Prongsie, can't blame me for appreciating tiny Potter's beauty.” Sirius smirked, earning him a smack on the head from a protective James Potter.

Y/n rolled her eyes at the sight of a pouting Sirius Black, before she took hold of Remus' hand. “Take me away from the idiots, please.” she chuckled, tugging on his arm.

Remus chuckled, “Gladly.”

The walk to the Prefects carriage was in perfect silence—aside from the huffing from Sirius, which Y/n chose to ignore. Remus had been a Prefect since his fifth year, along with Lily Evans. Y/n had been made a prefect as replacement for Lily, who is currently taking up the post of Head Girl. Y/n was ecstatic when she received her badge, she had been dreaming of becoming a Prefect since she was a first year—much like her friend, Lily. As soon as they approached the carriage, Y/n stepped aside, allowing Remus to open the door for her.

“Such a gentleman.” Y/n chuckled as she walked in first, James following her and finally Remus. Sirius stayed back, flirting with fifth year Ravenclaws.

Y/n looked around, scanning the faces of each appointed Prefect. There was Alice Fortescue and Frank Longbottom, the other two prefects from Gryffindor. Florence Bell, Amaryllis Abbott, Francis Fawley and Christopher Gideon from Hufflepuff. Emmeline Vance, Julia Boot, Gilderoy Lockhart, and Dirk Creswell from Ravenclaw. And finally her eyes landed on a certain Slytherin. Regulus Black was standing besides Severus Snape, Pandora Rosier, and Dorcas Meadowes. Regulus Black had his lips curled into a sneer as his eyes settled on her. Y/n scowled at him and walked to the furthest seat away from the younger Black, Remus trailing behind her.

“Why the hell is Potter here?” Severus Snape sneered at James. Y/n smiled cheekily, knowing that it would rile him up. “Which one?”

“You know what I mean, Potter.” Snape sneered.

“Oh, you didn't know?” Y/n smirked, feigning innocence. “Jamie's Head Boy.” Snape scowled, but kept his mouth shut when Lily Evans glared at him. The redhead sighed, before muttering, “This is going to be a long year.”

“Patrols will be done as pairs. Professor McGonagall is aiming for unity between houses, meaning each pair shall be from different houses. Here is a list of the pairs,” Lily smiled, passing one parchment to a Hufflepuff prefect on the right and the other to a Ravenclaw prefect on the left, “please note that these pairings were chosen by Professor McGonagall. I had nothing to do with this, same with the Head Boy.”

“I hope I'm partnered with you, Moony.” Y/n smiled, playfully nudging the older boy beside her. “You and me both, Y/n.” Remus chuckled, ruffling her hair.

“Here you go.’’ The fifth year Ravenclaw smiled brightly, passing the parchment to Y/n. Muttering a quick 'thank you', she grabbed the piece of parchment, scanning it for her name.

Remus Lupin and Florence Bell

Amaryllis Abbott and Gilderoy Lockhart

Dirk Cresswell and Pandora Rosier

Severus Snape and Julia Boot

Francis Fawley and Alice Fortescue

Frank Longbottom and Emmeline Vance

Christopher Gideon and Dorcas Meadowes

Regulus Black and Y/n Potter

Y/n's eyes widened, “Oh, no, no, no.” Her hands gripped the parchment in horror. Her partner was none other than Regulus Black.

“Who'd you get partnered with, baby sis?” James asked as he approached his sister with a warm smile, wrapping his arm over her shoulder. He peeked over the parchment, eyes widening at the name beside his sister's name. A teasing grin spread across his lips, “Good luck, you're gonna need it, more than ever.” James chuckled, using his sister's words against her.

Y/n wanted to hit her brother, but she stood frozen, her eyes glued to the parchment in her hands. She let out a shaky exhale, before her eyes darted across the room, locking with emerald green that belonged to Regulus Black.

“Please, please, try to remember that you all are Prefects. And as Prefects, you are not only representing your own respective Houses but the whole school in general as well. Please do not abuse the authority bestowed upon you, being biased shouldn't be taken into your duties as Prefects.” Lily informed with a pleading look in her eyes as her gaze turned to the Slytherin prefects. She took a deep breath before turning back to face everyone else. “I know the previous Head Girl and Boy were a little…..nonchalant in terms of being authoritative figures, which frankly in my opinion, is utterly careless, having multiple bullying cases from last year. I fully plan on making sure each and every one of you are treated fairly, none of those biased opinions.” Lily turned to James, who was making his way towards her after clapping his sister on the back. He ran a hand through his hair, making it messier as it regularly was. He stood right beside the redhead, flashing her a grin, which Lily rolled her eyes at. “As Head Boy, Potter, do you have anything else you'd like to add?”

“Please, just try to be civil with one another, despite who your partners are, alright? They will be your partners for the whole year, better not start on the wrong foot, yeah?”

Lily clapped her hands, “Now that we have the patrol partners settled, please go to your respective partners. As part of the Inter-house unity, you must get to know one another.”

Y/n did not want to spend her nights for the whole year with Regulus Black. She would rather jump off the astronomy tower, than be his partner for the whole year. As everyone walked up to their respective partners, Regulus Black and Y/n Potter stood still in their places. Y/n had her arms crossed over her chest as she blatantly refused to walk up to Regulus, much to Lily's annoyance.

“If you two don't get your stubborn arses together right now, I will body bind the both of you together.” Lily threatened with a sickening sweet voice that made Y/n wince.

Y/n huffed, before walking towards Regulus. She stood beside him, still making sure there was enough distance between them. The two stood in silence, not bothering to look at one another.

“Oh, for the love of God.” Lily muttered as she saw Y/n and Regulus standing back to back. “Talk!” she yelled, making Y/n jump. She rolled her eyes, before turning to face Regulus, who was smirking at her.

“What the fuck are you smirking at?”

“So hostile, Potter.” Regulus rolled his eyes, “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Arrogant git.”

“Annoying bitch.”

Y/n gasped, “You did not just call me a bitch!”

“You started it, Potter. Don't act so offended.” Regulus smirked. Y/n scowled at him, wanting to punch the smug look on his face.

“I hate you.” Y/n spat.

“Glad the feeling's mutual, Potter.”

After a few more reminders from Lily, the meeting finally ended—much to the pleasure of Y/n Potter. One by one, the Prefects stepped out of the room. Leaving Lily, James, Y/n, Remus, a sneering Severus Snape, and Regulus Black, of all people.

"It's preposterous that after everything you've done over the last six years, Potter, the old codger made you, of all students, Head Boy.”

Y/n's head immediately snapped at his direction, “You honestly thought it would be you, Snivellus?” Y/n laughed humorlessly, “Don't make us all laugh, you greasy git.”

Snape clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing at the female Potter, stepping towards her. “No one asked you for your opinion, Potter.” Snape spat, “You're just as insufferable as your brother.”

“For your information, Snivellus, my brother deserved getting appointed as Head Boy. Have you seen him lead the Gryffindor quidditch team into victory? Oh wait,” Y/n feigned ignorance, “everyone else in Slytherin were too busy complaining about losing every single year to even see Gryffindor's talent.” Y/n spat, glaring daggers at Snape who in turn snarled at her, stepping forward into Y/n's personal space. As expected, Remus instinctively stepped beside Y/n, ready to protect the youngest Potter from Snape. Lily tried to step in, but Y/n's threatening low vice stopped her tracks, making her sigh and shake her head—though still on her guard, gripping her wand in case.

“If you don't get out of my personal space, Snape, I will make sure you'll regret being born.”

James, who strangely didn't come to his sister's rescue and kept calm despite what was happening, cleared his throat loudly. “If you don't mind, Snape,” James stood beside Lily, “Evans and I have work to do.”

Snape scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Drop the act, Potter.”

“I'm just doing my job and trying to get through it without causing a problem.” James insisted calmly—which was hard enough to say the least.

“He doesn't deserve that badge, and you know it!” Snape spat angrily.

Snape turned to his former best friend, “Lily, you can't possibly think he's changed!”

The redhead rolled her eyes, before standing up straight and walking up to James. “Please excuse us, Snape. We have jobs to finish before we arrive at Hogwarts.” Lily said flatly.

“One more word about my brother I swear to Merlin-”

“Or what?” Snape taunted, glaring at the little witch in front of him.

“I'm going to shove your wand far up your arse until it comes out your abnormally large ugly nose!”

“Back down, Snape.” Regulus Black's icy tone echoed in their ears, their heads snapping towards him. Snape scowled, “You can't possibly be defending Potter.”

“I am not defending anyone, I'm doing my duty as Prefect. Evans,” he jerked his head towards the redhead witch, “has made it clear that biased opinions are not to be brought in situations like….this.”

Snape scoffed, “Potter's being a bitch! You can't-”

“I said back down, Snape!” Regulus hissed, “If you cannot be civil, take your objections to McGonagall or Dumbledore! You are acting like a child.” He growled at the older Slytherin, his green eyes flashing with annoyance.

Lily, James, and Remus fell silent. Did Regulus Black really defend Y/n? Meanwhile, Y/nbscowled at the two Slytherins—not paying attention to the door that suddenly opened. Sirius poked his head in, a grin plastered on his face.

“Wow, the air here is thick.” Sirius eyed his friends, before his gaze fell on his brother—he scowled, before quickly looking away before anyone could notice.

“Anybody got a knife?” Sirius said cheekily, which made his friends plus Lily groan. “One can easily cut the tension with it.”

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